


Snippets

by Oloriel



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artistic License- Star Wars Botany, Can be OOC (subject to personal taste), Darth Vader Lives, Darth Vader Redemption, F/M, Heavy AUs abound, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, Multi, Not Beta Read, Rule 63, Suicide Attempt, Suitless Darth Vader, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, self indulgent as heck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29219376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oloriel/pseuds/Oloriel
Summary: Short snippets and word sketches, mostly Pieder.
Relationships: Firmus Piett/Darth Vader
Comments: 21
Kudos: 43





	1. The Gardens

**Author's Note:**

> No monetary profit is derived from this work. Playing in the sandbox of George Lucas, Disney et al.

Having relegated their various purchases to a delivery droid, Vader and Piett resumed their leisurely tour of the Naboo Botanic Gardens.

The crowd had thinned considerably once they moved away from the annual nursery sale in tandem. In the ten, fifteen minutes they had been strolling, they had only encountered three beings- horticulturalists who zipped across the meticulously kept grounds in a tool-laden speeder. That being said, neither the mild, slightly cloudy weather nor the sweet, refreshing scent of jasmonia blossoms in the air could soothe his anxiety as he fiddled intermittently with a small box in his trouser-pocket.

"What is the name of that plant?" Vader stopped on their path, pointing at a pale-barked tree with cascades of cylindrical blossom by the large pond they were approaching. Upon closer observation, the flowers were cylindrical aggregations of florets, each graced with long and numerous stamens in a shade of pale yellow most pleasing against the deep green leaves and creamy white bark. A light fragrance, oddly familiar, scented its shade," 

"It's a yellow flimsibark, Vader," Piett responded, hand tightening around the box momentarily. "This species is apparently the best one for flimsibark oil production,"

"The oil is in your aftershave," Vader responded, voice suspiciously light-hearted. "By the way, I don't think we've thoroughly explored this side of the gardens. Would you like us to venture further?"

"Lead the way," Piett indicated with his free hand, breathing as deeply and quietly as he could as Vader strode ahead. 

They ended up ambling through a secluded kitchen garden, looping around beds after beds of mundane and exotic edibles bordered by improbably dense boxwood hedges. Piett knelt down to examine them, curiosity piqued by their uniform greenness. Vader came to a standstill a few steps behind him and looked on. A few moments in, a sense of expectancy nudged him gently across their bonds, and Piett felt a flush creep down his neck.

"I-" now was as good a chance as any. He withdrew the box out of his pocket and opened it, pulse drumming frantically as he turned around. Vader looked down at him and the proffered ring from his thrice-damned high vantage point, dark blue eyes a-glimmer.

"You have to ask properly," he stated, quiet amusement and something more fleeting rippling in his voice. "Go on, Firmus, declare your intentions,"

"Which are entirely proper," Piett risked a quip, and was rewarded with a bright smile, all the sweeter for its rarity.

"Marry me, Vader,"


	2. Convalescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke brings a bed-bound Admiral Piett dinner. Conversation ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussion about a powder explosion accident and casualty numbers towards the end of the sketch. Proceed with caution. 
> 
> Handwaving of logistics, supplies, protocol and catering abound.

"Admiral Piett," Luke stood at the doorway, tray of food in hand. "May I come in?"

"Please, Commander Skywalker," Piett nodded at him. The young pilot walked in and set the laden hover tray over his lap, then stepped back respectfully. The scent was delicious. "Would you like me to fetch anything else, sir?"

"No, but thank you for asking, and thank you for bringing me my dinner," Luke gave him a shy smile, then his stomach gave a very loud rumble.

"I take that you haven't eaten then, lad?" Piett asked. Luke shook his head, turning a rather alarming shade of red.

"There was a long line at the mess hall, sir, so I thought I'd go back later," he explained, then bit down on his lower lip.

"You should go have dinner," Piett said. "Go on, hop-to," and made a shooing motion.

"…May I have dinner with you, Admiral?" Skywalker blurted out. Piett raised an eyebrow at the question.

"It's just that- words got out that my father is, well, _him_. Been, um, getting some cold shoulders in the mess hall. Pretty awkward for everyone, really. Leia is away, and…father and Han and Wedge won't be back for another ten days," the young man sagged visibly.

"I suppose you can," Piett began. "Though I must warn you, sharing a meal with a convalescent prisoner of war is hardly going to get you out of your current predicament,"

"Can't really get worse, sir" Luke shrugged, and Piett was struck by the similarity between father and son.

"Go, then," he couldn't help but chuckle as the young man went off. Then he turned his attention to the tray before him.

A generous (and thoughtfully de-boned) cut of some sort of boiled poultry, drizzled over with a dark sauce and garnished with a green herb. Next to it a plate of flatbread, freshly baked and warm to the touch. A bowl of blanched greens and another of clear broth completed the meal. He tore off a piece of the flatbread and dipped it into the sauce. Both were delicious. The greens were an unusual cultivar of brock, crunchy and almost sweet, which he could appreciate. The broth was rich and delicately flavoured, for all its deceptive resemblance to water. This amount of fresh food (definitely _very_ local supplies) had evidently inspired the catering team to pull out all their stops. _Luxurious_ , he decided between bites, was not adequate enough a description for what he was being provided with.

Luke returned at this juncture with his own tray of food, setting it down on a small table next to his bed. Piett noted the lack of a soup-bowl.

"I had my share in the hall, sir," he explained. "Didn't want to carry a soup bowl all the way here,"

Piett motioned for him to start eating, moving to try some of the poultry himself. It was as good as it looked, being both well-seasoned and wonderfully tender. It was something Lorth would have appreciated, Rebel cook or not, he mused, and felt himself smiling at the dish. A few blinks did away what surely must have been dust-motes in his eyes.

"Are you alright, sir?" Skywalker look up from his almost assembled roll, brows furrowed in concern. Piett cleared his throat.

"Judging by the quality and variety of the food, I take it that you have local suppliers?" he commented by way of evasion, using a piece of the flatbread to pick up more of the meat, dipping both in the sauce as he did so. "This is no mean task for any support branch, even one as resourceful and skilled as yours," Luke, mid-chew, motioned for him to wait.

"Of a sort, sir," the young man replied. It was Piett's turn to chew and listen.

"We are lucky to be in orbit around what Leia calls a "food basket" planet, but the locals were reluctant to trade with us. Couple of hours into planetside negotiation, their main flour mill went up- Leia said it shook the building they were meeting in. Mill and surrounding area were completely destroyed," 

"Dust explosion of that magnitude are rightly classified as catastrophes in many systems," Piett added, frowning. How many dead?"

"Two hundred and sixty. Another hundred and eighty injured. Those of us who can have all been put to the recovery effort since. And uh, the Farmers' Co-op was more than happy to do business after High Command offered our help. Said it was the least they can do to feed and supply us,"


	3. Vader and Piett argue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst. Anger. Stress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proceed with caution:
> 
> One account of bodily harm (Force-throwing someone against a wall), inflicted during an intense and bitter argument by one partner of a romantic and sexual relationship on the other. 
> 
> One allusion to attempted suicide.

"My son insisted that I see you," Vader began, fiddling with his oxygen tube. "Please, Firmus, sit," he indicated at a well-padded armchair next to a large Alderaani rug, and sat down in the one opposite it.

"Piett suffices," the man said tonelessly and sank into the chair. "Say what you have to say, my lord, but be quick about it. I'm a dead man walking as-is,"

"Luke has faith that you will have a fair trial," Vader offered placatingly. "Firmus, you are not likely to-"  


"I don't have the luxury of having Commander Skywalker as my **son** ," Piett cut him off harshly. "I appreciate the young man's optimism, Vader, but it is too late for the likes of me. Now, say what you've come to say, then be gone. I haven't much time to waste,"

"I apologise for my deception and the hurts it caused you, Firmus," The one addressed froze where he sat. Vader inhaled deeply, then continued, gazing steadfastly at him. "I don't regret saving your life-not one bit- but you are right. The Lady's crew and Death Squadron at Endor were needless wastes of lives that could have been minimized, if not prevented,"

"I thought I might pass from existence before Darth Vader made an apology," he said at length, staring intently at the rug fringe a foot away from Vader's boots. "But had it ever occurred to you, Lord Vader, that after you executed Lorth Needa before me, I did not wish to be saved _again_? That in the eyes of those who had loved ones on the Lady when it went down-in Death Squadron when it was decimated over Endor-I am to blame for their deaths? Do you know how _many_ letters of condolences I wrote and sent out in my "secured quarters" before I-" Piett broke off and bit down on his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. "I thank the stars that I don't have to add Max, Dr Deng and Cassandra to that list, and that Luke found me in time- else I'd never have known. "

Vader waved over a serviette from the coffee table to his lap. Piett ignored it, and wiped away the swell of blood with his hand. A cup of water set itself down next to Piett, but he paid no attention to it, either.

"I took away your choice, and I regret that deeply. Captain Needa was important to you, too. I should have stayed my anger,"

"You took away so much more than my _choice_ , Vader," Piett snapped as he stood up and crossed the rug to stand over him, pale with pent-up anger. "Tell me, my lord, were you motivated by anything else than an absolute intolerance of incompetence in Lorth's execution? Jealousy and possessiveness, perhaps? Was that how your late wife met her end, too?"

Vader looked stricken, and Piett knew he had gone too far- or struck too close to truth.

"Do not parrot Sidious' lie at me, Firmus Piett," the man snarled, standing up as the cup shattered behind them. "And don't you dare bring _her_ into this,"

"Why, because of all your failures, Senator Padme Naberrie's untimely death was the greatest?" Piett retorted, and found himself slammed hard against the far side wall. Vader loomed before him, scarred features distorted with rage. Piett noted the iron Force grip at his waist with detached interest. No more chokeholds for the Sith Lord, it would seem.

"No, my attachment to her- to you is," He replied steadily, then let Piett drop to the floor -almost gently- as he made for the door. "It has brought nothing but misfortune to you, as it did her and her children,"

With that, Vader stepped out, leaving Piett with his words.


	4. Crash Landing (obligatory)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt "brushing hands by accident" for Neumhuire.
> 
> To my readers: Please hit me up with more Pieder prompts.

Firmus Piett came to in what he would otherwise describe as a fever dream.

He was certainly feverish, he decided immediately. His singlet- for the tunic and undershirt had at some stage been removed- was soaked with sweat, yet he sought every vestige of warmth from the heavy blanket over and around him. His head and hands and arms throbbed under their bandages. Nasty burns, but how? His ribs hurt abominably with each draw of breath-definitely cracked, if not broken. A ginger touch to his sides found them splinted.

The dancing light of a small fire illuminated the rocky clearing he was in, and the still and capeless form of his commanding officer. Lord Vader propped against a boulder not three feet from him, seemingly asleep. He shifted in his nest of leaves and fern-fronds and promptly went into a volley of coughing, almost spasming from the pain that coursed through him. The taller man shuffled over at the sound.

"Welcome back, Admiral Piett," The mask tilted toward him. Numerous scratches marred the black steel. A crack ran through the left lens. The vocoder- or something- seemed to leak oxygen or air, being much wheezier than usual.

"What…happened?" Piett choked out. "We were en route to the Imperial Centre, last I recalled,"

"We were pursued," Vader stated, motioning for him to lie still. "My shuttle crashed, and the wreckage caught on fire. You suffered extensive burns to your arms, head and hands, concussion, and at least two broken ribs, Admiral. I personally cut you out of what was left of your tunic. The wool had saved you from the worst of the fuel fire. Your undershirt 

"And you, my Lord?" The Admiral said very slowly, conscious of his ribcage.

"The Dark Side sustains me well enough," the Sith shrugged, an astonishingly eloquent gesture for one so heavily armoured. "My…support system is functional, though not operating at optimal capacity. At present you are the worse-injured, and likely to deteriorate further in this sub-tropical climate,"

"Atero II?" Vader nodded at his assumption. Piett swore internally. Here he was, rendered immobile by injuries, burning up a fever, and on a planet no doubt known to Skywalker and _his_ comrades-in-arm. If a distress signal has been sent, there was every chance that-

"There is no cause for alarm," the Sith assured him. "We will be rescued in the next 48 hours, but not before," Piett noted that he conveniently left out the _who_ , but remained silent. Vader summoned the scanner from the medkit and held it over Piett's forehead, humming disapprovingly at the display screen. He reached out again, this time to summon the rest of the kit and a canteen.

"Water, hypo and antibiotics," he pronounced stiffly, drawing a quiet chuckle out of Piett at his imitation of Dr Deng, the Lady's head medic. "And a change of bandages. "Which one first, Admiral?"

"Water," Piett rasped. Vader obliged him and passed over the canteen, adjusting the drape of his cape so he could sit up better. Piett's fingers brushed over Vader's in their clumsy attempt to grip the sides. The man was never un-gloved, and if what he had glimpsed applied to the rest of him, then it must be torture-

"Keep drinking and stop thinking, Admiral," Vader admonished. _The fever really was toying with his perception of reality_. "I have full use of my hands, whatever state they might be in. You are by far the more incapacitated one here,"


	5. Full Circle (in a way)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> something old, something new

Firmus Piett surveyed the hall approvingly from the vantage point of his-their- table. The simple combination of cream surfaces, lush greenery and splashes of brilliantly coloured Lake Country flowers was quite something. Formal enough for the occasion, yet…comfortable enough for guests to socialize freely. Altogether a far cry from the cold opulence of those Empire Day galas he had to attend. Beside him, Vader was almost through his (very generous) portion of pandan trifle.

_This is very good_ , the slightly raspy voice commented to him. It was really quite remarkable how expressive the man is, sans eyebrows and in the throes of trifle appreciation.

The eclectic assembly before him had relaxed considerably under the influence of good food and better alcohol. A sizeable and immaculately dressed group had already returned from their admiration of a magnificent late summer sunset over tranquil waters, the last pulling the balcony doors to as they returned to their seats. Closer to himself, the Wookie warbled at Leia, Solo and a dark-haired youth where they sat among the cushions of a large window-seat. The three of them fairly shook with uproarious laughter as Chewbacca continued his narration. On the far side of the room, Luke was deep in conversation with a tall, red-haired woman and her companions by a small grove of potted bamboo palms. His drink sloshed violently around his tumbler as he gesticulated, always on the verge of spilling but not quite. No doubt the Force was at work there.

At the end of the table, Max had set down his groomsman’s butonniere to rest in a commandeered water glass, having taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves for a game of Sabaac with Calrissian some time before. That man was now enraptured by some far fetching tale of Max's, deftly packing up the deck of cards as the tale departed the realm of reality for good. In their alcove, the musicians plucked at their instruments softly, the lilting melody of a folksong barely louder than the murmurs of conversation as the last ray of sunlight faded from view.

_A credit for your thought, Firmus_.

“The planners have impeccable taste,” he replied, patting Vader’s hand, trying not to look startled- and failing-at the ring's new smoothness against warm and well-worn leather.

_Don’t encourage them_. Vader responded with lopsided smile as he stood up and pushed his chair in. The music drew to a graceful close and stopped briefly, before starting anew as the hubbub of the hall gradually died down. A stately three-measure dance, neither too fast nor too slow.

"May I have the first dance, husband?" The taller man stretched out a gloved hand. Piett nodded, letting himself be pulled to his feet as they moved as one onto the dance floor.


	6. Send me your prompts!

Please shoot me your prompts/headcanons/ideas at:

https://super-mulberry.tumblr.com/


	7. Is She Alive?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Partial rule 63: fem! Piett. 
> 
> Angst time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains:   
> -one attempt at suicide and the ensuing medical treatment  
> -referenced/implied sexual assault  
> -reference/implied torture  
> -reference/implied assault  
> \- strong angst
> 
> Please proceed with caution.

"Admiral Piett?" Leia knocked. Nothing. Suddenly uneasy, she pressed the emergency release button. The door slid open to reveal a meticulously kept room. A dress uniform was draped over the foot of her bed, and Leia's uneasiness descended into dread as she moved closer for a better look.

The woman in question was lying on her side, and seemed to be fast asleep if not for the eerie green cast to her skin. A syringe and an opened vial labelled "poison" lay on the bedside stand. 

_Is her life worth saving?_ A sinister, silky voice chuckled in Leia's mind even as she recoiled from it and the sight before her. _This is no ordinary Imp_ , the voice warned. _Admiral of Death Squadron, a loyal servant of the Empire for as long as it existed. Is not her fate already sealed, with or without poison?_

_You know nothing of who she is, and not without a fair trial._ She mastered herself. Shaking, she leaned forward and pressed two fingers to the older woman's neck. A slow pulse fluttered weakly beneath the cold, dry skin. Leia reached for the commlink and put through the emergency code with trembling fingers.

"Dr Sar speaking. How might I help you, Admiral?"

"Dr Sar," Leia took a deep breath. "This is Leia Organa. Admiral Piett has attempted suicide by poison,"

"I'll be there shortly, Your Highness," he replied. "Do not touch anything in the room,"

"Come as discreetly as you can, Doc," she requested, gazing down at Piett's almost-peaceful face.

"I'll see what I can do," he ended the call. She turned from the bed, and found Luke and Vader in the doorway. Luke was pale with shock, and Vader-if he were any other- looked terrified and heartbroken.

"Is she-?" The Sith gasped out. 

"Only just," Leia managed, trying and failing to keep her voice even as the man sank to his knees-whether in relief or despair she did not know or care. "Help is on the way," Luke nodded at her words, then moved to hug her. She let herself be embraced.

"I'm sorry you had to be the one," he said as he let her go. "I should have been looking after her more-she'd not been herself lately, not after the assault outside the mess-hall,"

"Assault? Piett was assaulted?" Vader looked up at them from where he was, sorrow replaced by shock and fury. "When was this? What happened?"

"Two, three weeks ago," Luke stared at a point on the wall three feet left of Vader. "I was there when it happened-it was late and I couldn't sleep. Wandered right into it, really. The Admiral-she told me not to tell anyone, especially you, Father. Said that you had enough on your plate as-is, and that she can handle herself,"

"It wasn't-" Leia stopped herself.

"No," Luke shook his head frantically. "It was bad, but it wasn't _that_. I am sure of it. We found somewhere quiet to sit down near my rooms. I patched the Admiral up with my kit, offered to keep an eye out on things for her. She refused, said it wasn't right for me to waste-"

A terrified scream from the room cut Luke short.

Vader went to his feet and rushed into the room to kneel again beside the bed. Piett's eyes were wide open, and she seemed to be struggling against invisible bonds-or hands- that held her down. Luke, a step behind, deftly snatched the vial and stopper off the bedside stand with the Force, stoppering it as it landed on the small desk opposite them.

"Piett," the older man said gently, taking one of her hands in both of his. "Fidela, look at me" She turned her eyes on him at his voice, a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. Then it died, and she shook her head.

"You're dead," she said, pulling her hand away and gazing up at them before curling in on herself. "He just strangled 'Lonie in front of me. You're all dead, and _he_ 's laughing so awfully," she whimpered, and stopped struggling altogether. 

"It's that torture agent," Luke intercepted, steadying himself with a hand on the desk top. "The one that makes you re-live your worst fears again and again, before the shock kills you. If she has that around," he pointed at the vial. "Chances are she should have the neutraliser somewhere, too. We need to find it for Dr Sar,"

"They're here," Leia called from the door.

"We-we best get out of the medic's way, Father," Luke helped Vader up from where he knelt. "Come,"

Dr Sar and the med-droid shut the door behind them as they went in. Outside the door, Luke grasped one of Vader's hands in both of his. Leia stood to one side, staring unseeingly at father and son and feeling very tired.

At length the door re-opened. Piett had been transferred onto a grav-sled and hooked up onto a field dialysis machine, the med-droid by her side. Dr Sar followed with an envelope in hand.

"This is for you, Lord Vader," he thrust it none-too-gently into Vader's hands. "We'd best proceed to the medical centre to talk,"

"Can you not treat her in her room, Doctor?" Vader enquired, crumpling the envelope in his fist as he did.

"No," Dr Sar shook his head. "Kayee has administered what we have- a sedative and a general antidote. And started dialysis for the Admiral to get as much of that out of her as we can at this stage, but she _needs_ the medical centre facilities. Now, if we could move along? I have some questions for you that are best asked in confidence, milord. Kayee, if you will lead the way,"

The med-droid whirred, and set off on a steady pace. Vader strode forward, eyes locked on the still and pallid figure before him. The twin and the doctor followed him. 

"Will she live, Doc?" Luke asked as they moved through the back corridors.

"Too early to tell, Commander," he sighed.

The rest of the short journey was spent in silence.

Once the admiral was transferred into a secure ward, the doctor took Vader into his office and showed him the vial, now ensconced in a safety cube. The green liquid was iridescent in the soft, bright office light, glinting alluringly like the wing-case of some exotic insect specimen.

"Agent 731," Dr Sar gestured at the vial.

"We used it for closed interrogations," Vader nodded. 

"Execution by torture, you mean," Dr Sar shook his head in disgust. "What exactly does it _do_ , milord?"

"Administered at its usual dosage, it forces the being in question to experience their worst fears and memories-whether lived-in or hypothetical- over and over again until they expire from terror. In larger quantities," Vader paused. "I-I do not know, though I expect the effects to be greatly increased. Fide-Admiral Piett had ordered all doses of the agent on board the Executor to be surrendered to her after succeeding Ozzel to the role,"

"How long does it take to be effective?" the doctor asked, typing furiously.

"An hour or two, dependent on the being ,"

"Right," Dr Sar looked up at him, putting the pad aside. "As designated next-of-kin, you'll be the first to know of any developments, but be prepared for the worst, milord. Do you know what drove her to committing suicide?"

"It would not be for me to tell," he said at length. The dark-skinned man clearly did not believe him, but accepted the answer nonetheless.

"You may leave, Lord Vader," he waved. 


	8. Here There Be Tropes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fidela Piett, part 2 of ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oloriel attempts romance. Tropes include but are not limited to:
> 
> -Airport farewell.  
> -Airport confession.  
> -Call me by my (real) name.  
> -Force Feels Activation.
> 
> May be very, very, very OOC depending on your tastes and take of These Two. 
> 
> Proceed with caution.
> 
> PLEASE let me know what you think in the comments!

"I suppose this is good-bye, Piett," he gazed at her, both of them leaning against the little transport. Coruscant glittered in the night around them.

"More of a farewell, milord," she met his eyes, left hand tugging at her right sleeve cuff. "I'm allowed visitors in twelve standard months' time. I'd like to see you then," A strong breeze blew a section of hair across her face, and before he knew truly what he was doing, he was tucking it back in place behind her ear. Piett stiffened at his touch, and he hastily pulled back his hand.

"Sorry," he crossed his arms behind his back. "I shouldn't,"

"Don't apologise- not used to it, is all," she shrugged. "I haven't had hair this long since I was sixteen, and now it's mostly grey,"

"Mine was dark blond, believe it or not," Piett actually laughed at that. "My eyebrows were slightly darker,"

"Luke must take after you, then. Lonie was silver-blonde as a toddler," she stepped away from the transport to look at the bustling traffic around them. "Life's possibilities are only that if there is a life, isn't it?"

"Quite," he nodded. "I'm glad you pulled through,"

"Couldn't have were it not for you, milord," Piett smiled. "Thank you, for guiding me out of despair and terror," She turned her eyes from his to the approaching pilot droid, then back to him. 

"Lord Vader, come closer-lower, I mean,"

He obliged, bowing down so they were mostly eye to eye. She stepped closer, scanning his face, then leaned up and in to press a swift kiss on his lips before retreating. He stopped her short with a hand on each shoulder, the Force singing around him.

"Sorry," she stammered. "I shouldn't have, but I-"

"Couldn't go without. Let me return the favour," He pulled her to him, and it was the most natural thing in the world to feel her lips against his and her heartbeat against his and her arms about him. The Force-singing was getting quite loud and just a **little** irritating at this point.

  
"Exile 1439-02, please cease candoodling and board the transport," the droid announced. She detached herself from him with an eye-roll.

"I suppose that qualified," she commented as two more droids showed up to escort her aboard. "Well, this is it, milord,"

"Anakin," he blurted out. "Anakin Skywalker,"

"Fidela," she gave his hands one last squeeze. "Fidela Piett, but you already know that, Anakin," She moved further up the gangplank and disappeared into the vessel. The transport took off a few moments later, though the man stayed in his spot until the silver speck disappeared from sight. 


	9. Family? Family.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke delivers bad news to ‘Lonie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fidela Piett, part 3 of ? 
> 
> This chapter contains: 
> 
> -Reacting to a loved one's suicide attempt  
> -Flashback to the Lars' deaths.
> 
> Please proceed with caution.

"Lonie," Luke approached the Supply Officer, hand outstretched.

"Luke," Zevulon took the mechanical hand and shook it, smiling brightly. "Haven't seen you for a while. What brings you here?"

"I've some…bad news about Admiral Piett, " Luke said. Lonie sobered immediately at his tone. "Is there somewhere more private where we might talk?"

"My office," Lonie gestured at the building behind them.

"Of course," the younger man nodded, and followed him in.

Zevulon V.'s office, Luke noted as he sat down in the other chair, didn't have much in the way of personal items aside from two potted ferns in painted clay pots. It was something common among those who defected. The clink of a cup before him scattered his musings.

"I'm afraid I haven't anything stronger," he indicated at the drink apologetically as he sat down behind his desk. "She-is she alright? What is it that you have to tell me?"

Luke took a deep breath as lifted up his head to look at the other man in the eye. "Admiral Piett is in intensive care following a suicide attempt," Lonie shot up from his seat.

" _Fidela Ayi_ ," he stated blankly, shaking his head. "No, it can't be,"

"Have you met your aunt much recently?" Luke asked gently. _Blood does not always make family_ , he thought, and Lonie's devastation is proof enough.

"We spoke once or twice, she told me Max-my father, that is- survived, but she kept her distance after. Said it'd give me trouble. I should have tried harder to keep her company, to do more for her-" his voice cracked as he struggled to keep composure. "If I showed her that she had a friend and comrade in me, a nephew, even, then-"

"It's not your fault, Lonie," Luke assured him as he moved from his chair. Lonie looked down at him with burning eyes. "I know how it feels,"

"You have no-" Lonie furiously wiped away falling tears on his sleeve, then looked aghast at Luke. "Gods, I'm sorry, your aunt and uncle. I had no right to say that,"

"It's all right," Luke patted him on his back. Lonie embraced him tightly as he did, earnestly weeping into his shoulder now. "It's all right,"

He tried and failed to banish the sight-the stench- of smoking ruins and charred corpses those words conjured up. Lonie's _Fidela Ayi_ is at least still hanging onto life, however tenuously. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru have been dead for six years, and he barely had time enough to bury them. Luke blinked away his own tears as Lonie's soaked through his shirt.

They stood like that for what seemed like an entire afternoon, though when Luke glanced at the chrono next, it had only been forty minutes since he set foot in the office. He passed Lonie his cup of tea, now comfortingly warm.

"Would you like some time to yourself?"

"I-let's get this over and done with," Lonie raised a hand, and both settled back in their seats. The younger man stared down at his cup for some time before he trusted his own voice.

"What happened?" he asked, voice hoarse from the weeping. "Who found her? Will she-?"

"My sister did. She and the Admiral had plans, and when the Admiral was late, she went to find her. The poison she... self-administered is an Empire-made hallucinogen. She'd just started hallucinating when we found her. Dr Sar has kept her stable so far, but there's no telling what that thing does to a body, or when she might come out of her hallucinations. Naught to do but to wait, it would seem,"

"She has always been a pillar of strength to….those she is close to," Lonie shook his head. "You forget that she needs it too, until it's too late,"


End file.
